The Butterfly
by Cricket Tealeaf
Summary: Another AU fic. What if Elphaba had successfully evaded Fiyero in Emerald City? Set five years after.
1. Prologue

From Wicked- _Tomorrow, Fiyero would make his apologies to his business colleague. Tonight he would not lose Elphaba. As she hurried through the streets, checking over her shoulder more than once, he thought: if you were trying to lose someone, if you did think someone was on your trail, this was the time of day to do it-not because of shadow, but because of light. Elphaba kept turning corners into the summer sun that, setting, was bowling blinding shafts of light alon side streets, through arcades, over the walls of gardens. But he had had many years of practice stalking animals under similar conditions-nowhere in Oz was the sun more of an adversary than the Thousand Year Grasslands. He knew to squint his eyes, and follow the persistence of motion and forget about identifying by shape. He also knew how to duck sideways without tipping over or losing his balance, how to move again-the startled birds, the change in sound, the disrupted wind. She could not lose him and she could not know he was on her trail._

And then the inexplicable occurred. There was a sudden burst of white as a large birdcage housing white pfenixes in the Traders stall to his immediate right toppled over and came open. The tiny birds took flight and the whole effect dazzled and distracted him for the slightest of instants. He caught himself but Elphie had vanished into seeming thin air.

_No! _He searched for her face in the crowds, in the alleyways, the windows above. He cursed himself for being so easily distracted. _A cage of birds! Of all the absurdities! _But he did not give up, not yet at any rate. He kept looking for several minutes, loath to lose hope. Why had she run in the first place? Why deny him in the chapel? Was it fear of him, or for him? But for the love of Oz, why?

He gave the area one last sweeping gave, though he was sure she was long gone at this point. As expected, she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed, dejected and turned back. He could still catch the opera but now was decidedly disheartened. With wounded pride at his failure and her snub, he resigned himself to it and backtracked.

For days, no, weeks afterwards he was plagued with thoughts of this almost-reunion. Of having seen her! Five years was a long time...

He returned to the Vinkus and then Kiamo Ko.

Lurlinemas came and went in a flurry of lights and splendor. Despite the blatant frivolity of the celebration and being surrounded by Sarima, her sisters and the three children, he couldn't shake the thought of Elphaba from his mind.

Finally, news of Madame Morrible's death reached his ears. Killed in an explosion on the holiday, while en route to the very theatre he had patronized after Elphie had given him the slip. Tragically, a group of young girls and some street performers had died along with the old Matriarch. No one claimed responsibilty, which he found odd.

He thought of Elphie again.

But then Irji stumbled on the stairs and scraped his knee and began to whine. Nor was sitting in the middle of the floor, sucking on her pacifier. The sound of her brother's crying startled her and her nook fell from her mouth. This was enough to set her off as well.

Fiyero stood up and went to Nor first, sweeping up the toddler. She was instantly calmed by this. Then he went around to Irji who always took some work in consoling. He sighed and put Elphie out of his mind for now.


	2. Something bad, is happening in Oz

"_Why should I keep myself so safe?" he asked her, but he was almost asking himself. What is there in my life worth preserving? With a good wife back there in the mountains, serviceable as an old spoon, dry in the heart from being scared of marriage since she was six? With three children so shy of their father, Prince of the Arjikis, that they would hardly come near him? With a careworn clan moving here, moving there, going through the same disputes, herding the same herds, praying the same prayers, as they have done for five hundred years? And me, with a shallow and undirected mind, no artfulness in word or habit, no especial kindness to the world? What is there that makes my life worth preserving?_

"_I love you," said Elphaba._

"_So that's that then, and that's it," he answered her, and himself. "And I love you. So I promise to be careful."_

_Careful of us both, he thought.-_From Wicked

_Something bad is happening in Oz...-_Wicked the Musical

"I detest this. It feels so common, so vulgar," Fabala bemoaned. She tugged at the frayed rope encircling her neck.

Fiyero shrugged and held onto the other end in a careless manner. "Its commonplace these days. Especially in the more civilized places. "

If it was possible for a she-Goat to snort and sneer, Fabala did just then. "Civilized, pah! Those devils up in Emerald City are the most ruthless, the most barbaric..." But she didn't finish her thought, too outraged to go on.

Fiyero hoped she didn't see his almost smile. She may take it the wrong way. So he tried appealing to her plight. "I know what you mean. Those Gillikenese and their high-class mentality. When I was at Shiz it was always the pointing and the 'Look, its a Winkie!'"

Fabala gave him a reproving look. "Just like a man, to make everything about himself,' she grumbled.

He cleared his throat. "I'm not making it about me," to this she interrupted with another 'Pah!' He decided to ignore it and kept talking. "Its about both of 're in this together."

She gave him another sour look. "Together, a? I don't see a rope around your neck."

"Its invisible but its there. Sarima holds the other end with an iron grip," he said quickly. Fabala snorted again and shuffled her hooves in the grasslands ran out and now there was just sand and stone and a persistant wind from the west. The wind was bitter hot and dry and pestered them with sand. The two of them took refuge under a stunted kender tree. Fiyero strung a tarp of skark skin from one low branch. It provided little shade but protected them from the sand blasts.

"A caravan would have been more prudent," Fabala said, grumbling some more.

"There are soldiers amassing in Red Windmill. A regiment of the Wizard's Army. It is my duty to my people to find out why. A caravan would take too long. "

"He fears you," the she-Goat said darkly. It went without saying who he was. She turned her emerald green eyes on him. "They call you the Hungry Tiger."

He grinned at that. "Oh, I've heard that one before. But silly nonsense. Rumors and propaganda. People are so empty-headed they'll believe anything. There is not one dignitary worth noting that doesn't embellish on his grandeur or his strengths or his prowess. Take the Wizard, for example." And he spread his hands as if that explained the matter.

"Be that as it may, there is a power in the west. The Wizard knows. He fears an uprising."

He gave her a suspicious look. "How is it that you know so much?"

She ignored the question and dropped a bombshell. "They say you are in cahoots with the Witch of the West."

He was stunned by the revelation. But then laughed at the concept. "Now _that's_ propaganda. There is no Witch of the West, save for the Kumbrica Witch, in days of old. And that, of course, was way before _my _time."

"Are you so certain?" She gave him a look he couldn't decipher.

"I certainly have never seen her," he asserted.

She backtracked a bit. "Still it gives him pause. _You_ give him pause," she elaborated.

Two days later, they crossed the Restwater and came within sight of Emerald City. At this point. Fabala became ornery. "I'll not be tied and pinned like some _goat_!" She planted her hooves and would not budge. "I won't have it!"

So Fiyero resigned himself to stay with her outside the city walls. A stately, Quoxwood tree spread out on their end. The two travellers sought shelter beneath it and it provided ample relief from the merciless sun.

There was little chatter among them that evening. Both were exhausted from the desert wandering. She did however sidle up next to him and place her head in his lap to sleep. She suffered him to throw an arm across her back and let him scratch her spine. Fiyero wondered about this. Most sentient Animals were usually too proud to allow themselves to be treated as a common pets. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

Fiyero slept like a dead thing, though the sun was still high and unrelenting. Fabala, on the other hand, was ill at ease. She fretted and stewed. She managed to sleep, but kept alert all the while, in case things went to hell. She couldn't say, just then, what had her all riled up but she knew that for whatever his shortcomings she was fond of at least this one human. The rest of them could burn as far as she was concerned.


	3. Under the surface, behind the scenes

"_I never use the words humanist or humanitarian as it seems to be that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature." –From Wicked the novel_

_Fiyero: Why is it that every time I see you you're causing some sort of  
commotion?  
Elphaba: I don't cause commotions, I am one.-Wicked the Musical_

At the coming of dawn, Fabala was in wonderfully high spirits and ready to enter Emerald City. She took hold of the edge of his tunic with her teeth and tugged. When that didn't work she nipped his elbow.

"Ow," he said, a little too loudly.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated gesture. "Would you like some cheese with that whine? I barely even broke the skin."

"It's bleeding. Well thank you for that. There are better ways of waking someone up, you know."

She ignored this and gamboled towards the city walls.

Eventually, he allowed her to drag him inside. Bored and still groggy, he started to talk about Sarima. "And whenever I bring it up everyone looks at me like I'm some kind of monster. It's all 'But she was a _baby_!' Nevermind that I was seven too, at the time we were married and that I had less say in the matter than she did. It was all down to her parents and my parents. Nevermind that I didn't touch her until we were twenty!"

The rope in his hand suddenly went slack. He stared at it dumbly for a second, his mind still sleep-laden and slow. Fabala had vanished seamlessly into the crowd.

A sable-furred she-Goat ought not to be hard to find, he felt. Of course this was a wrong assumption but before he could really look, a voice called his name.

It was Glinda, wearing an audacious and gaudy salmon and silver ensemble. He wondered if she realized that she was in the low market. He cringed a little at the sight of her.

"Why Fiyero," she said, brightly. She came hurried over, fast as she could in those heels. Her outfit crackled and rustled like wrapping paper as she moved. "It's been ages. And the stories I hear." She gave him a sly smile and made a tutting noise. He tried not to look annoyed.

"Glinda," he adressed her, with a nod of the head.

She practically assaulted him, throwing herself into a hug. He was knocked off balance and staggered back a little as she squeezed his arms. Then she relented and stepped back to give him a once over. She moved her hand to indicate he should turn around. He did, but felt a little foolish in doing so. It was if he were back at Shiz and felt on display all over again. A pale-yellow sleeveless tunic of suede open at the front and matching leggings and skark moccasins, also pale-yellow. "My, my aren't we sexy today," she teased.

_Sweet Lurline!,_ she was embarrassing him."Travel wear," he said with a shrug.

"Walk with me," she said, snapping her fingers like it was an order. He sighed reluctantly but followed her anyway. "What brings you to Emerald City," she asked.

"My tribe sent me to speak to the Wizard."

"Oh yes, business with the Wizard, that keeps happening as of late. But you...Oh, I hear such stories coming from the West. The Hungry Tiger. They say you eat babies..."

He shook his head. "The Arjiki only practice ritual cannibalism."

"Oh," she said, softly. He could tell that she was trying to work out if he was joking or not. He wasn't but she didn't need to know that. But then she smiled again and grabbed hold of his arm. "Oh, there is a ball tonight at the palace. They say the Wizard will be there. You must come!"

"Maybe..." But he wasn't certain. He did need to see the Wizard and address the situation in his territories but was a ball the place to do it?

* * *

It was a regal affair. Celebrated heads of state and polished dignitaries would be there in their finest attire and rainment.

And so Fiyero showed up wearing only a loincloth...

Glinda hid her face behind her fan as if her shame but really she was smiling. Oh, how she admired his gall. This was no doubt to goad the Margreave.

Boq caught sight of her expression and smiled and laughed good-naturedly along Avaric, on the other hand, was predictably haughty and disdainful.

Crope merely warred against the grin and blush that threatened to take over. It was to him that Fiyero first spoke, "Like the view?" Crope laughed nervously, and turned bright red. "Oh, you know me," he stammered, flustered.

Fiyero tilted his head, arched his brow and gave Crope a wicked smile. "Yes, I do," he replied.

To which the other said, "Do the diamonds go all the way down to...," but then he caught himself and flushed even more. He put his hand to his mouth and said no more.

Glinda gave Fiyero a reproving look. _That was cruel_, she mouthed. He shrugged one shoulder. "Aren't you supposed to be looking for the Wizard," she said brusquely.

"Well, I can't very much show up wearing this for his audience, can I? Don't answer that Crope!"

"It makes you look...capricious."

"Yeah?"

"I think it makes you look uncivilized," Avaric said, disapprovingly.

"I think that was the point," Crope quipped and then giggled to himself. Avaric glared at him and he fell silent at the look. Having had enough, the Margreave took hold of Glinda's arm and pulled her away.

Boq leaned in. "That takes guts," he said quietly.

"I'll say but given your...pluck...it is very becoming," Crope added.

"I'd never have the nerve to wear something like that," Boq said, sounding a little regretful. "Of course, I have Nessa is breathing down my neck most of the time these days, making sure none of us get a toe out of line."

"Oh, how is she?"

"Completely insufferable," he said, quickly, but then looked contrite. "In her own way she means well but..."

"She's a religious fanatic," Crope supplied.

"Exactly. Elphaba should've taken the Eminence."

Fiyero blinked. "Elphaba...I saw her here," he told them, but Crope surprised them all by saying the last part along with him. "You saw Elphaba? When," Fiyero asked him.

"That is to say, I think I may have. I'm not sure."

"Oh." Fiyero was disapointed. He decided to move on. "What of Tibbet?"

But this was greeted with uncomfortable silence. Boq shuffled his feet and suddenly became very interested in the floor. "Dead," Crope said, sounding grim.

"That's what I heard too," Boq said in a small voice.

"He took to drinking and those foul pinlobble leaves and...other things. They say it was suicide."

"Was it," Fiyero asked, looking at Crope.

But he just shook his head. "I don't know. I was too ashamed for my part, to really look into what happened."

"Not one of us bothered...," Boq said with bitterness.

Awkward and uncomfortable silence followed. Fiyero sighed and pushed forward again. "Say, have either of you seen a black Goat, around the city today?"

"Animals aren't allowed in Emerald City anymore."

"Really? I may have made a mistake then. She's a consort of mine and..." Crope suddenly choked on his champagne

"Consult! You mean consult," Boq hissed at Fiyero.

"Whatever, she's a friend of mine and I've seemed to have lost her."

"Well then you hope that the Gale Forcers don't round her up and haul her off. These days it's a sin to be a talking Animal," Boq told him. He gestured to a table in the corner and the three of them retired to it.


	4. Wonderful

_They moved together, blue diamonds on a green field_-Wicked the novel

_Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?- _Wicked the Musical

Gillikinese wine had nothing on Vinkus tipple, as far as potency. Still Fiyero had drank enough of it that he was a little stumbly by the time he headed back to the room he had purchased.

Fabala was sitting on the bed when he arrived. He stared in disbelief. "How the hell-"

She cut him off, sounding shirty and flip, "Made a fool of yourself, have you?" She scoffed. "Showing up there like that. And for what? Male pride? Showing up that hideous Tenmeadows?"

He wasn't _that_drunk. "How do you know about Avaric? I don't think I've mentioned him to you."

There was a hesitation, it was brief but it was there. "You talk in your sleep."

He shrugged. "Uh-huh, this is where I smile and nod and pretend I haven't caught on."

"You are a drunken fool and what's more, you are rambling."

The door opened suddenly and they both went tense. But it was only a maid, bringing towels and a platter. Fiyero got a really bad idea, aided by the alcohol swimming in his brain. "Mmm...what I wouldn't give for a nice fat baby right now." He affected a sigh, and said, "But alas, my conscience will not allow..." He looked up at the girl. "You know what I mean?"

But she looked horrified and all but fled from the room.

"You're playing with fire," Fabala screeched.

"Oh, you're making too big a deal out of it. I was just having a bit of fun with her."

"That was exceedingly stupid." But he had already fallen asleep. She groaned audibly and settled herself down on the floor.

* * *

Glinda knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning. She spoke in hushed tones, saying, "The Wizard will see you now."

He was, at first, so surprised by her simple attire, a plain blue dress and riding cloak, that he almost missed what she said. "Now? Does he know what time it is?"

"Of course he knows. He came all the way to this club to see you. That is not something that just happens." This last part came out a bit resentful. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting," she added, with some urgency.

"Half a minute," he told her, closing the door again. He quickly threw on something more presentable and met her back outside.

She led him to the Master Suite. This was predictable, he supposed. Where else would the Wizard sleep but the most elaborate room in the place? But she stopped him before opening the door. "Just remember and don't be alarmed. We all see what we most want to see." Before he could respond, she opened the door and pushed him through.

The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, throwing a ruby-red glow all over the room. It made the rain on the outside window look like blood. Highly unnerving, it was.

But then, more unnerving was the person sitting on the bed. _Elphaba! _He started at first but then remembered what Glinda said about seeing what onewanted to see. So the rumors were true, and the Wizard was adept in sorcery...Still, Fiyero couldn't fathom the particular usefulness of this spell. Maybe it was to disarm and catch any potential adversaries off guard.

"Well, I am waiting," the Wizard said in Elphaba's voice.

Fiyero took a deep breath, trying to shake off some of his trepidation. "As you know, I am a traveller from the West..."

"I know who you are, Chieftain Tigelaar of the Arjiki tribe. Stop wasting my time with petty trivialities, _Prince._" The last word was spoken witha sardonic inflection.

Fiyero tried not to show his irritation, this could go very badly. "There are troops in Red Windmill. A small regiment of your army."

"This has not escaped my attention. I have sent them there," the Wizard told him, as if it might not be obvious.

He was partly used being spoken to like this by now. "Ignorant savage I may be, but that I knew. I merely came to question why."

"I have sent them for the protection of your tribe."

This was ludicrous. "Protection from whom?"

"I assumed their presence would be welcome. So it seems that even you, with your worldly education, failed to appreciate this fact."

"I protect my tribe, or we protect ourselves. Your troops are not needed."

"I disagree. Just because you live in peace now, does not mean it will always be so."

"We need no protection," Fiyero insisted.

"These are matters beyond your understanding. The troops will remain. Go home to that castle of yours and be glad that I have taken notice of your plight for it will hardly affect me here if the Arjikis are wiped away, by...lets say mercenaries from Ev or Quox."

A Gale Forcer had come into the room, unnoticed until now. He took hold of Fiyero's arm and pulled it gently but firmly. Fiyero resisted. "So I'm dismissed? We accomplished _nothing_!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way but I have nothing more to say to you." And the Gale Forcer pulled him out into the hallway.

* * *

"Well?" Fabala was wide awake and waiting for him on the bed, same as earlier.

"Pointless and ineffectual," he said, miserably. "He didn't take me seriously and-"

"He's trying to piss you off. Trying to make you do something stupid. That way he can crucify you."

"He made himself appear as an old friend of mine. A girl named Elphaba." He looked over at her and watched her carefully. This was not lost on her. She kept her head down and pretended to be lost in concentration. After a few minutes, he gave it up. "So now I go crawling back to the Vinkus and tell them how miserably I failed. I need another drink."

"Be glad you have me here. I checked your food for poison."

"Poison? You really think that he would?"

"Not _him_. Of course not him. He would have one of his flunkies whisper it in the ear of one of their cohorts and so on and so fortch down the line until some one far and away from him splashed arsenic in your food."

"Maybe I don't want to eat now anyway," he said, looking at the platter the maid had left early in the night, like it was a wild animal.

"That's probably wisest. You never can be sure."


	5. Wicked Workings

_"I wouldn't mind leaving myself behind if I could, but I don't know the way out?"- _Wicked the novel

_Elphaba: Do you think I want to be this way? Do you think I want to care this __much? Don't you know how much easier my life would be if I didn't?- _Wicked the Musical

_Poison!_ That last conversation with Fabala had made him paranoid. Fiyero was loath to eat anything that was brought to him.

Despite this and against her advice, he remained in Emerald City for some days after. The concept of going back and facing his tribesmen _and_ Sarima was daunting.

He met with Boq two days following the failed meeting with the Wizard, and the Munchkinlander was able to propose a solution to his predicament. "Frex will be arriving from the East in another day or so. Nessa is sending him on a mission to the Vinkus."

"Like I told the Wizard, we don't need saving," Fiyero said, a little too harshly. He winced and mumbled an apology.

"Hey, I've tried to reason with her. I mean, he isn't exactly a young man anymore, and the Vinkus can be quite dangerous. Don't look at me like that, I mean no offense. The land itself can be a hazard. Wild beasts, and desert, and cliffs that come out of nowhere. For all I know: lightning sand! But all I was able to accomplish was her assigning me to be his caretaker." Boq grimaced. "I am to be responsible for him. Any way it's going to happen and he's going and I'm going and _please_ help me, Fiyero, I don't want to be left alone with him."

"So you want me to go along?"

Boq looked relieved and imploring. "Will you please? As a favor to an old friend? I mean, you have to go that way eventually, right?"

"It's true, I can't avoid going home forever," Fiyero admitted, with considerable reluctance.

Boq nodded, getting the gist of his expression. "I completely understand. Before I left the farm to come here, Milla attempted to drown herself in the wash basin. Wives, you know?"

Fiyero considered and said after much thought, "It is not Sarima's fault that she is the way she is. We love each other and I try to be a good husband to her. It's just that she spent years and years being terrified of me and she still hasn't accepted that I might be an okay guy. It is difficult for us to be intimate."

"Not that difficult, you have three children."

Fiyero shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"True enough, Milla certainly isn't intimate with me. We have seven children and twins on the way."

Fiyero's eyes went wide for a second. "_Sweet Lurline_, do you have time for anything else?"

"Somehow," Boq said, with a grin. "I came here to get supplies. We need a new thrasher."

"Can't you get that back in Munchkinland?"

"I could, but there is no quality like Emerald City quality. And plus, dear Nessa taxes everything to death."

"Let me ask, is it better being under her rule than the Wizard's?"

"Yes," Boq said, with vehemence. Then he went pale and glanced around fearfully to see if they were being overheard. He leaned forward looking almost conspiratorial and dropped his voice very low. "Most Munchkinlanders don't care one way or another about it. I mean, we traded one tyrant, a dictator if you will, for another. But Nessa reads like an open book, whereas the Wizard works totally in secrecy. A bitch, she is, yes. Intolerable, arrogant and zealous to the extreme. But she remains the lesser of two evils. Though, I have to wonder, why have you not seceded from the rest of Oz."

"I am prince of the Arjikis, not Prince of the Vinkus." When Boq looked confused, Fiyero elaborated. "There are other tribes. Other peoples. The Scrow and the Yunamata and now the Ghullim have been rerouted to the Grasslands by the Wizard's Armies."

"Doesn't that get complicated?"

"Not really. For the most part, they mind their business and we mind ours." He suddenly remembered his breakfast and took a sip of his coffee. "Up until recently, we have been isolated but the Wizard is growing bold."

Boq lost even more of his color. "Keep you're voice down!"

"Why should I? I have no revolutionary inclination. We just want to live our lives in peace and not be plagued by outsiders." Fiyero looked down at his cup. He had finished the coffee without thinking and the concept of poison was once again bouncing around in his mind. He was suspicous of everyone again.

But Boq distracted him again. "All this talk of opposing the Wizard...this could get us hauled away. We really should not be talking like this in public. Big Brother is always watching," he said, cryptically.

"What are you worried about? They'll just defect you back to Rush Hardings or whereever it is."

"Yes, but after incarceration and days of brutal torture. And I'm just a farmer."

"You're also a consult to Nessarose Thropp, the Emminence of Munchkinland." But no sooner had he said this did Fiyero's thoughts turn inward and reflective. To a subject that had nothing to do with political entanglements or familial woes. Or poison._ Elphaba. _What did it mean that the Wizard should appear to him as her? It was true that the memory of almost catching up with her in this same city years before had been with him ever since. Glinda had said that he would see what he most wanted to see and it had apparently been her. Not what he expected. But what did it mean and what did it say about him?

Or maybe it hadn't been an illusion at all? Maybe the original Wizard was dead, by her hand? After all, he had long suspected her of killing Morrible, so it wouldn't be a stretch to think that she had done in the Wizard as well. No, not a stretch, but then he suddenly realized that she wasn't likely to engage in such subterfuge.

But then there was the matter of the Goat. He had had a notion lately that the Goat was somehow Elphaba in disguise. But this raised more questions for him. And he certainly couldn't think of how to prove it. Of course, that was subterfuge and would be just like her, a self-inflicted penance and martyrdom for the evils done to Animals. But still it was not up to the Wizardly extremes. And with her outspokeness and passionate view against the injustices done to all who were not Gillikinese.

His thoughts shifted again. The Wizard had appeared as Elphaba, which meant on some level he had been thinking on her, even if he had not been aware of it. Which meant further that the Wizard could tap into his thoughts. Or his heart. If the Wizard really was that powerful, maybe he was in over his head. He felt a chill and a sudden break in confidence.

Boq looked at him, concerned. "Are you alright? You don't look well."

Fiyero nodded, then shook his head, and then nodded again.

"Are you doing that on purpose or can't you make up your mind," Boq said, looking a trifle annoyed.

Fiyero laughed nervously. "That's the trouble. I can't make up my mind. I haven't got a brain, only straw." He paused and wiped the cold sweat that had broke out on his brow with a napkin. "Or so the Wizard would have me believe. Him and the rest of his entourage."

Boq nodded sagely. "Because I am in league with Nessarose, they think me heartless. Of course, I am only guilty by association."

* * *

This sort of second guessing and self-doubt was exactly what the Wizard was hoping for, at least in regards to Chieftain Tigelaar, though for the other he couldn't have cared less. Big Brother was indeed watching. A mirror which was not a mirror, hung on the inside of the small cafe immediatly adjacent to the two men with it's mate in the Wizard's quarters.

"I need something effective. Not fatal, that raises too many questions, but effective nontheless. That Tigelaar is a thorn in my side, if I ever had one."

A sorceress, dressed in the cliche all black, boldly approached him. She held out a small vial filled with a glittering powder. "I daresay this will get the message across."

"_Poison?_ Have you not noticed that he suspects just that?" He waved her away.

But she gave him a malicious smile. "Not poison. Powdered glass, enchanted to boot. What ever means he has to detect poison will fail. I can't say that it won't kill him, but he seems made of strong stuff, so he will likely recover, but he will not forget."

"Powdered glass? Clever. What did you say your name was?"

"I am called Jinjur," she said, with a self-important inflection. "Has no flavor, no scent, will dissolve into food or drink. But with my enchantments will remain sharp, which you know will be extremely unpleasant for him. "

He smiled at her, he admired her ingenuity and her bold manner but nevertheless he could risk her using this or something like it on him. He motioned for the Gale Forcers lurking in the corner.

With much screaming and protest, she was taken out of his sight. "Hmm, you would think with that sort of skill, she could have easily vanquished them. Pity, it seems she wasn't really as powerful as she believed," he remarked on her departure.


	6. Gone to the Goat with a thousand young

_Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.-_Wicked the novel_  
_

_Somethings I cannot change, but til I try I'll never know_-Wicked the musical

Jemmsy took up his post. This would look innocent enough, just a soldier giving himself a shave. The Munchkinlander and the Winkie were lingering by the water spigot. The young maunt offered to fill their waterskins for them. Jemmsy angled his mirror just right so that it would shine in the Munchkinlander's eye, not the Winkie's, that might look suspicions with what was to come. He slid his blade across his chin, pretending not to notice as the Munchkinlander winced and shielded his eyes from the glare. Both of them turned in this direction, exactly as he had been hoping. _Perfect. _He watched from the corner of his eye as the maunt emptied the powder in to the Winkie's waterskin. A stroke of genius on the Wizard's part. No one would ever suspect her.

He pretended to suddenly realize what he was doing and pocketed the mirror and wiped his blade on his sleeve. He waved an apology to the two men.

Sister Gracine handed them their waterskins back and after thanking her, Fiyero and Boq picked up their conversation, oblivous to what had taken place. "I'm really glad that you and I were able to talk, without Glinda or Crope or Avaric," Fiyero said.

"They're great people, really, except maybe for Avaric, who's just an ass, but they can be a little much sometimes," Boq said, nodding.

"More than a little," Fiyero agreed. "But I am glad. Also, that you are coming along. It makes this a little more bearable. I'm going home with my tail between my legs, essentially. I failed miserably here and I have to go back and tell them all. My tribesmen won't be pleased. And I'll never ehar the end of it from Sarima."

By midday they were ready to go. It was a small caravan with three wagons drawn by oxen. There were also several camels and pack mules. The only passengers were Frex, Shell, Boq, Sister Gracine, Fiyero and Fabala.

The cook eyed Fabala for the soup pot but Fiyero appealed to the lead, a robust woman called Oatsie Manglehand. Inexiplicably, the Goat had taken to bleating instead of speaking. _This has something to do with Frex and Shell_, Fiyero told himself and feigned ignorance.

_Meanwhile, well secure in his lofty palace, the Wizard grinned with a smug sense of accomplishment. During the short time it was in his possesion, he had added his own enchantments to that vile glass. No, that misbegotten Winkie lord wouldn't die, but he wouldn't soon forget what was about to befall him..._

Glinda arrived to bid them all adieu. She had reverted to her typical attire, ridiculously opulent. A regular eyesore. "Oh, just look at you boys. Off on some grand adventure into the untamed land. I wish I could join you but Sir Chuffrey is waiting."

Fiyero grinned at her. "Well, I promise you, the next time we meet, I shall be kidnapping you and then you can share in the adventure."

And she laughed. "And I shall hold you to that promise." She pinched his cheek and kissed them both and wafted back into the city.

The caravan trudged forward. The heat was intense, even in the shaded wagons. Fiyero and Fabala dozed in the back of one, while Frex preached fire and brimstone across from them.

By the time Fiyero woke up again, the light was fading. The wagon was moving at a snail's pace but Emerald City was well out of sight. He reached for his waterskin and settled back to sleep some more. He watched Frex for a while, the old man was on a role about the nature of evil, his hands waving as he gesticulated wildly. Fiyero didn't have the heart to tell him that he was a Lurlinist and therefore a pagan, but then the man probably already knew.

He drank. There was a curious tingling sensation at the first swallow. It surprised him and he coughed. There was a sudden sharp pain on the inside of his cheek. He touched the spot that was sore and his fingertip came away red. He wondered at it for a moment, but then dismissed it was him biting himself in his sleep. His throat felt irritated now and he drank more to soothe it.

It felt as though a thousand needles were stabbing his throat. He swallowed convulsively a few times from the shock. Then he gagged and dropped the waterskin. He fell forward onto his hands, sputtering and choking. Both Frex and Fabala were on their feet, bleating and yelling for help.

Fiyero panicked. It felt like his throat and mouth were on fire. Blood spattered on the oaken floor of the wagon and he felt dizzy and disoriented. He reached for Frex's leg, for some reason, he didn't know why, but before he could gain purchase he lost conciousness.

_The Wizard watched surreptiously, and with growing pleasure. No one knew would what it was, no one except for Sister Gracine, and that completely suited his purpose. The young maunt would be the one to oversee the treatment and be blameless by default..._

Fabala was, of course, beside herself with worry. There was no clue to what it might be, although she was sure this was some scheme of the Wizard's.

Sister Gracine was as baffled as the rest of them. She was, however, in possesion of a wealthy supple of pinlobble leaves. She fed them to him in copious amounts. Fabala was extremely grateful for her kindness, knowing the maunt couldn't do much in the way of a cure, but could atleast subdue his pain.

"I know who you are," he whispered.

She lifted he head and watched him. With all those leaves, surely he couldn't be awake. Somehow, he was. It was dark but she with her improved vision she could make out the glitter of his eyes.

"I know who you are," he repeated.

"Shhh...now. Don't worry on it. You're not well and you should be sleeping."

"I know who you are," he said, a third time.

She sighed. He was probably dreaming after all. So what could it hurt? "Yes, of course you do. You're clever enough to have figured it out. But it doesn't matter right now. I want you to go back to sleep!," she said forcefully. She walked over and rested her head in his lap. His hand fell heavily on top of her and he sighed deeply. She felt his body relax and his breathing slow. He had gone back to sleep, apparently, but this was something she would have little of now.


	7. You'll remember me

_The fire caught, then flared, and the shadows detached themselves and moved as shadows will, but these shadows moved fast, across the room, at him before he could register what they were. Excpet that there were three, or four, or five, and they were wearing black clothes, and black char on their faces, and their heads were wrapped in colored scarves like the ones he had bought for Elphaba, for Sarima. On the shoulder of one he saw the glint of a gilded epaulet; a senior member of the Gale Force. There was a club and it beat down on him, like the kick of a horse, like the falling limb of a tree hit by lightning. There must be pain, but he was too surprised to notice. That must be his blood, squirting a ruby stain on the white cat, making it flinch. He saw its eyes open, twin golden green moons, befitting of the season, and the cat then scarpered through the open skylight and was lost in the snowy night_- Wicked the novel

_Let his flesh not be torn, let his blood leave no stain. Though they beat him, let him feel no pain...let his bones never break and however they try to destroy him, let him never die. Let him never die!-_Wicked the Musical

Boq protested and vigorously so, that they should turn back to Gillikin and find a proper surgeon for Fiyero. But the lead wouldn't hear anything of it. Supplies were needed out in the Vinkus and yes, it would be dreadful if he died en route but he wouldn't be the first or the last and there would be many others who would if they delayed even a day. Sister Gracine would have to do.

Fabala felt a rush of affection for the little Munchkinlander but then she had always been fond of him anyway. She fancied that she could hear him tell her in a stern voice, 'Now, Miss Elphaba, I resent that. I am nearly five foot tall.' At which point she would laugh softly but not unkindly, and he would turn red. She sighed, that might have happened, in another life.

At a complete loss as to what to do, she wandered close to the banks of the Kellswater. Dead water, it was and everyone knew it. But an unwary traveler _might_ not have known, what with it's deceptive beauty, and sweet smell. That is if they had somehow overlooked the scattering of bones in the sand.

Her Goat's face was a study in despair. She flumped heavily in the sand, feeling weary and heart sick.

Her Fiyero had become deathly ill and no one here had seen the like of his illness. She had never once felt so lost in her life. So she gave voice to her emotions, "_I don't know how to love him, what to do, how to move him/ I've been changed, yes really changed/ In these past few days, when I've seen myself, I seem like someone else."_

Her voice had once been pleasant, but now was a horrible grating racket. A small price to pay for what she had been granted. Still, if there had been anyone to listen they couldn't deny the emotion behind it. "_I don't know how to take this/I don't see why he moves me."_

There was a war of emotions inside her, more than she had known in that previous incarnation and that was saying something. Fear, more than anything she wanted him to live. She wouldn't know what to do if he didn't. Anger, at him, at herself. That he should make her feel so helpless, and that she should allow it. Confusion, what did it mean, anyway? And what was the point? _"Should I bring him down?/ Should I scream and shout?/ Should I speak of love, let my feelings out?/ I never thought I'd come to this! What's it all about?"_

She jumped up and paced around the remains of some large beast, unknowable now. She cursed him, she cursed herself. She hated him more than anything and yet...he had to be okay. _"Don't you think it's rather funny, I should be in this position? / I'm the one who's always been so calm, so cool, no lover's fool, running every show/ He scares me so."_

And that was the truth, as much as she feared he might die, she feared all the more what he did to her. She fretted some more over the matter. It certainly wasn't his fault that he was so damn good-looking. What with that delicious sun-baked skin, that slow, easy smile. _Stop it!_ If she still had hands she would have slapped herself.

She sat down again, resigning herself to it. It wouldn't be so bad, being smitten to a man, she supposed. If she had been anyone else.

_"I never thought I'd come to this! /What's it all about? /Yet, if he said he loved me, I'd be lost/ I'd be frightened /I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope/ I'd turn my head/ I'd back away./ I wouldn't want to know/ He scares me so /I want him so/ I love him so."_

Despite herself she wished a way would open to her.


	8. When the west wind moves

_This is why you shouldnt fall in love, it blinds you. Love is a wicked distraction.- _Wicked the Novel

_This must be what other people feel like, how do they bear it?- _Wicked the Musical

"Come sit down with me, my boy, and we shall pray together," Frex said to Boq. The old man patted the empty space beside him. "Good Sister Gracine is a capable woman but you try her patience with your fretting. Let her see to the Vinkus fellow while we ask for mercy on his behalf. Or deliverance for his soul."

Boq did as he was told, but was doubtful of the intervention of the Unnamed God. He considered himself a Unionist but his faith was not up to par with that of Frex. He bowed his head and folded his hands, nonetheless, but it was mostly to appease the older man.

For his part, Boq was frightened nearly witless. True, his friendship with Fiyero had grown, these past few days, beyond what had been years ago at the University but that was not the reason. Despite his age, 31, he had seen nothing of death outside of the animals on his small farm.

Fiyero remained heavily drugged by the pinlobble leaves and Boq wondered if this was a blessing. Still, the poor guy's skin had lost its healthy luster and taken on a gray look. Boq didn't know what to make of it.

_"The fool," the Wizard said of Fiyero, watching from his mirror. Any mirror or pool of water on the other end would do, fortunately, but the picture was always clearer with this one's mate. In this case it was a large dower mirror that had been propped against the wagon wall._

_But he sounded almost contrite. "Yes, he is rather clever and has been educated," he said to Morrible's sucessor, who stood a little to his right. He glanced at her and almost smiled. The other woman's death had been of little consequence, and her killers laughable. Didn't they know that he had a dozen just like her on standby? Everyone in this palace was expendable, except for perhaps for Him. He went on. "But he believes that education gives him insight into the world of man. He had little notion of the cruelty and cunning of so-called civilized men, such as myself."_

_"The Hungry Tiger, that was my idea," he told her. "I created that image. And the simple-minded sovereign embraced it with zeal, as I knew he would. Meanwhile, it creates fear and unrest among my subjects. I eliminate dissenters while giving him a false sense of grandeur. I do pity him," he said with a sigh. "He has lived a sheltered existence, despite everything. He won't know what hit him when I deliver the crushing blow."_

_He turned away from the mirror and spoke with great reluctance. "It is time to wake up my enchantment."_

The following evening, Fiyero had a sudden fit of confusion. Or rather that is what they told themselves to assuage their guilt. Quite simply, they took for granted the drug-laden stupor he was in for granted and let him wander away while their backs were turned.

Fabala cursed herself and the others, at least as much. She should have known. He had been awake enough before to hold a conversation with her. So she should have been prepared for something like this. But she was a afraid that he may be in the same half-dreaming state and hurt himself even more.

That was more or less the situation. More lucid than a sleep walker, but not by much, he rambled through the forest of Kumbricia's pass. The trees seemed to be of no more substance than gray shadows of themselves. In fact, the whole world looked drained of color and all that was left was darkness and grayed fringes of vagueness. _This was the land of the dead_, he thought before gaining a touch more clarity. He stopped and looked around, wondering where he was and how he had gotten here.

_Its the fever talking,_ he decided. But he didn't feel feverish. He knew he was sick somehow. He hugged a tree trunk with one arm, and tried to gather more of his wits, or get stock of his surroundings. There was nothing of substance here. _This could be tiresome_, he managed before the haze took him again.

In the end, it was Shell, of all people, who found him. The boy stopped and doubled over to catch his breath, it was nearly a mile from camp and he had the entire way. Once he recovered enough, he started yelling for the others, while keeping an eye on Fiyero. The woods were quiet and still and he hoped that his voice would carry.

Sometime later when they were all back at camp and things had quieted down, Fiyero spoke to her again. "I had a dream," he said to her. "In the dream, I am a scarecrow high atop a pole. The Crows of War are circling but I cannot move, cannot free myself. I am helpless and at their mercy, and so are the Arjikis. I yell and wave my hands at them, but they just circle back and keep coming." He took a shuddering breath. "Oh Elphie, I'm frightened. And I don't know what to do. How can I protect my tribe?"

She shook her head. "Stop calling me that. If I ever was her, I am certainly not anymore! Stop dredging up the past. It's best forgotten. I mean it now!" Her eyes blazed and she walked to and fro, in an agitated manner. But she softened after a few minutes, and nuzzled her head up under his hand. "And things like this are best left for the future. Leave it alone for now and we'll worry about it later. Right now, you have to rest and stay put and the rest of us have to make for the mountains." And she was practically pleading with him. "Just please, please, go back to sleep. Let other people worry about this for now." She felt him sigh, just like the last time. But he closed his eyes again and stayed quiet. After awhile, she slept too.


	9. Horrors

_Horrors?" Elphaba said again, looking around. "Horrors," she tried in a whisper. "Horrors."- _Wicked the novel

The caravan moved onward and upward into the Kells.

Fiyero slept. He bled from just about every available opening. His pulse raced and his skin grew chill and damp with sweat. His breathing became labored. Sister Gracine tended him tirelessly. She gave the mirror behind her a furtive look, despising herself for past transgressions that the Wizard had used to rope her into this heinous act. At this point, she didn't care what he did to her. She prayed for forgiveness and trusted in the deliverance of the Unnamed One. _Let the Wizard do his worst_, she thought. She turned to the Goat and said, "He's losing too much blood. This cannot go on. Pray for him if you can." And the maunt busied herself in just that.

Fabala put her head down. She didn't know how to pray, not really. And was there anyone to actually pray to, she wondered. She closed her eyes and affected proper genuflection. But only for the maunt's benefit.

In the meantime, Fiyero had taken leave of himself, returning to the world without color. It was clearer this time, but the entire landscape was still in varying shades of gray.

Utterly nonplussed, he looked down at his feet. The ground was smooth and flat, and riddled with cracks. In the field beyond, a tired gray mule struggled to pull a plow through the rocky soil with the aide of a tired gray man.

From behind him there came a strange noise, like metal gears grinding against each other. Startled, he spun around to see a strange building. A house maybe, but unlike any home he had seen in Oz. It was built of wood. Wood! Who had ever heard of such a thing?

A woman had stepped out onto what served as a porch. She, like everything else here, was drab and colorless. He wondered if it were a metaphor. She held her hand to her brow and looked off into the distance.

Not one of them seemed aware of his presence so he took some liberties. He slipped behind her, cautious just in case. The door she had come through...It was just a frame with a closely knit, thin wire mesh spread across it. He marveled at this. What purpose did it serve? For surely it could not protect against marauders, or even wind and rain. He pushed on the mesh and things got weirder. It was soft and pliable, of all things! It gave slightly at his gentle push. He withdrew his hand and it bounced back unblemished. His mouth had fallen open but he was too dumbfounded to care.

What is this place?

The woman moved suddenly. He glanced where she had been looking and did a double take. There was a tiktok horror barreling toward them. He was suddenly frozen with fear. None of the Vinkus were especially fond of tiktok mechanisms but this…this would have quelled the bravest warrior among them.

It raced towards them at alarming speeds, kicking up dirt and dust in its wake. Fiyero readied himself to run; he had no weapon, not defense against…what ever it was. But a second look at the woman made him wait. She wasn't trying to run. And what was more, she looked happy at its approach. In fact, she tried drawing its attention by waving her arm.

The creature came to a sudden stop about thirty feet from the porch. The man had ceased in his plowing and was also watching the creature. Fiyero stared at the woman, gauging her reaction.

The creature's side opened up. Fiyero reeled in horror, staggered by this new development when the strangeness increased. A dog bounded out the opening, overjoyed by its sudden liberation. It was a small dog, not diminutive, but smallish nevertheless, with black and white markings. It was so happy by its escape that its whole body seemed to wag. It gave him a quizzical look, tilting its head to one side and gave a whine of confusion. It looked up at the woman expectantly, as if it hoped that she would provide an explanation for his presence.

Fiyero was so surprised by the appearance of the dog that he didn't notice that a man had climbed from the creature's belly as well. Until now.

The man was clearly less impressed by his freedom than the dog had been. He walked over at a relaxed pace and began to talk to the woman as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Fiyero bolstered his courage, he had inkling and wanted to confirm. But the creature frightened him. He wished he had a spear, or a throwing dart, or some other means to defend himself if things turned ugly. He approached with caution and wished that his knees weren't shaking so. It wouldn't do to show fear, but then, for all he knew, the creature might smell it on him. It remained idle, apparently not taking notice of him. Did it not care, or was it simply unaware of him just as the people were? The dog had noticed him and that raised questions as well. Was the dog really a Dog in disguise, and a sorcerer at that? Was it more intelligent than these humans? It barked and yipped and cavorted like a simple-minded animal. Perhaps this was trickery or mere survival technique? To protect its own skin. Or theirs. Fiyero did not know.

Maybe Animals were even more downtrodden here than in Oz and forced to behave stupidly. He watched the dog or Dog carefully and wondered. Perhaps it was the familiar of some benign or malevolent mage. Maybe the woman was a witch. Or for all he knew they all were, including the mule. He gave the mule a suspicious look. The farmer had abandoned it for the newcomers and it waited listlessly. Its head hung to the ground like one without hope, there was only blind servitude for it. He felt a twinge of pity for it. Both were clearly Animals, the Mule with its despair, the Dog with its subterfuge and innate ability.  
Stupid beasts would not be so capable. Or perhaps, and this frightened him the most, they did not know what they were because no one had shown them.

He chided himself for becoming so distracted and returned his thought to the creature. The beast. Perhaps it was the dumbest of the lot. It did not react to him. Not at all. This bewildered him. How could it be that it was completely unaware? A dumb machine. It was unheard of. It was...it was...just what it was escaped him completely. Even the simplest of tiktok machines in Oz carried some self-awareness, if only to do their master's will. Why, even the dumb birds and beast knew that they were alive and desired to remain so.

It occurred to him that this might be some sort of carriage. But it moved so fast! He studied it and it did resemble a horse but with exaggerated features. He ran his hand along what he had, at first, taken for the snout but it was huge, oversized to a ridiculous extreme. It was also very warm to the touch. What he had initially taken for an eye was a window that took up the whole top until it reached the cover. _Where did they find so much glass? _There was another window on each side. And these were doors, here, on the sides. He began to relax a little. This was making more sense, but not much.

Never before had he felt so ignorant. So outclassed. Embarrassed at his own simplicity. This was clearly a carriage of some kind and not a ravening monster. He hadn't considered himself particularly superstitious, up until this point. But, and he gave himself a bit of credit, they did not have mechanical carriages in Oz. He moved to the back. It was open, and hollow with a door that flipped down. Ideal for hauling freight. There was a watermark, or a branding. He tried to read it but the words swam before his eyes making them water and he felt dizzy just looking at them. His head began to pound in protest.

He took up with these people and marveled at what he saw. Peasants they appeared to be but that was clearly a farce. They held sway over Animal and Tiktok alike. There even was a machine in the kitchen that kept food cold for days! An oven that needed no fire or coal, that could be operated by the turn of a knob. And further, they had a device that controlled the very air inside the house, making it cool now or hot if they wished.

Sorcery! It had to be. And not of the commonplace, hedge variety prevalent in Oz. It was not right that these people should have such dominion over machines. They still hadn't taken note of his presence, something that he was very grateful for. What they would do to him if they caught him skulking about? For they were powerful mages, indeed.

He fled the small house in a state of abject terror and extreme agitation. He didn't look back but continued up the dusty road.

After several hours he came to another road, of a completely different sort. It was hard and a deep black color. Not paved with brick as it should have been. It smelled strange, of something unknowable. At least the dirt road had been something familiar.

More of the mechanized carriages sped by, but in varying shapes and sizes. "I don't think I'm in Oz anymore," he said, stupidly, and immediately flushed with embarrassment. _Like that hadn't been obvious, _he thought, irritated with himself_._ A horrifying thought came to him. What if all the denizens of this world harnessed the same power? That was a staggering thought. He hated and feared this terrible world.

He wandered for time unknown. Passing through cities, small villages, and isolated settlements. In this manner, it was like Oz.

There were machines that captured images and others that played them back. And also, weapons. Great weapons, he learned, that could reduce an entire city to ashes. They also had the ability to harness disease and turn it on their enemies. And everyone seemed to have one of those mechanized carriages. This was a world gone mad.

As if that wasn't enough these people seemed to know little of hope and simple joy. They rushed at a manic pace through their lives and never actually saw anything. No wonder there was no color here.

Feeling Ozian and especially Vinkus, he longed for his own world.

Horrors indeed.


	10. Unhappy Reunion

_She would emerge. She always had before. The punishing political climate of Oz had beat her down, dried her up, tossed her away—like a seedling she had drifted, apparently too desiccated ever to take root. But surely the curse was on the land of Oz, not on her. Though Oz had given her a twisted life, hadn't it also made her capable?- _Wicked the novel

Finally, miraculously, he began to recover. He came out of the death sleep that he had been in and Fabala was overjoyed at this. But Frex used this to his advantage, in an ill-concieved attempt to convert Fiyero. "This, by which I mean, your recovery is proof of the mercy and grace of the Unnamed God. Your salvation is proof of his existance and his love.

Fiyero cleared his throat and said very quietly, "I saw the Other Land in my dreams."

Frex looked astounded. For once in his life, he was speechless. When he finally did find his voice, it was to say, "Truly? Miracle of miracles, that he would bestow such a blessing on a misguided heathen like yourself."

Unexpectedly, Sister Gracine came to his rescue. "Dear Brother Frex, there will be ample time for the Word later, Right now, the patient is weary and troubled. Your sermons will only upset him." And so she shooed the old man away.

Fiyero mumbled toher, and he _did_ sound very tired, "Thank you. Even a misguided heathen needs his rest."

"Oh that..." The maunt rolled her eyes and apologized for Frex. "He means well...but can take things too far. But me, I have enough trouble tending my own soul, how can I be responsible for others?" She paused and asked, "Do you really believe you saw the Other Land?" She kept her voice low as if this were a secret.

He swallowed and looked distressed. He nodded and told her, "It is a terrible place. There is emptiness and everything is gray and without life. Its a wasteland."

Sister Gracine tread with caution. "I should think, and I do not advise, that that would be the bad place you saw. Maybe the Unnamed One WAS trying to reach you?"

"Maybe...," he said, uncertainly.

She looked remorseful and left it alone.

But Fabala had heard and was curious. "What did you see?" she asked. But he kept the details to himself.

Kiamo Ko drew nearer and little by little, Fiyero regained his strength. By the second day he was able to leave the cot they had set up especially for him. The third, he moved about the wagon. Although these efforts wore him out quickly, he pushed himself. The fourth day he walked awhile in the fresh air before retiring from exhaustion. By the fifth day they reached the mountain strong hold.

Sarima bustled out onto the rocky slopes to greet her husband, with her sisters following closely behind. The children were not in evidence.

They met and embraced and he kissed her. The younger women began to fawn on him, to mixed reactions from his companions. Frex thought, "Well, I certainly have my work cut out for me." Boq wondered why Fiyero hadn't mentioned this, and Shell wished it was him in that position, while Fabala felt the first bitter sting of disenchantment.

Fiyero welcomed the three Munchkinlanders into his castle. Six stopped short at this announcement.. She looked straight at Shell and said without preamble, "_You're_ a Munchkinlander?" This was a new concept to her, that he should be so _tall_ and she told him so.

Frex snorted, having a good three or four inches on his son, and that he should be overlooked by her. "It is only the common folk among us that are small. My son and I are of the Eminence line. _Hardly_ peasants."

"Common!" Boq cried, outraged. But Fiyero had come over and put his hand on his friends shoulder. Frex took no notice of this and Six detached herself from theothers and sidled up to Shell, which did not escape his notice.

Fiyero retired to the Solar with Sarima, almost immediatly, leaving the rest to wonder if he was really that impatient. In truth, nothing happened between them. Fiyero was still worn out and weak from his sickness and just wanted to sleep. "I had a bleeding disease, on the way here," he explained to her. She sighed audibly and looked put out. He ignored her and fell asleep.

There were no more dreams of the Other Land, he was pleased to note. He stayed in bed for a few days. It was soft and plush and he was still feeling out of sorts. Sarima was in and out. Fiyero slept often, hoping to recover quickly.

Fabala came after awhile, and they spoke at length. "The tribal council is waiting for me. I don't know what I will tell them."

"Tell the truth."

"Not so easy. They will think I am weak and scared and that is why I failed." He paused and sighed. "I am scared of the Wizard. He could easily crush us. How can we possibly we fight him?"

She shook her head in dismay. "This is what he wants. For you to doubt yourself and the fear and inaction that it inspires, while his troops march on your land. He hopes to frighten you into submission while sowing discord in the villages and camps, hoping that they will rise against you and yours. It is a stroke of genius," she admitted reluctantly.

"He poisoned me. I was careful and somehow he managed to do it. I am not given to cower but this is beyond our ability. We simply do not have the strength to repel him. It is hopeless."

"Don't think that, not ever! Give yourself time to recover and then go to your council and tell them to prepare to summon the Scrow. Make the alliance. It is the last thing he will expect. Its what he fears from of the West."

"And then what?"

"And then you let him make the first move. After that strike hard and fast."

"My people are not expendable," he told her, sounding a little angry. "There are so few of us...what if his attack devastates the tribe?"

But she didn't know how to answer that.

An Arjiki messenger came the next day with the news that Joleki, a warrior-hunter, had been spearing fish in the Vinkus River had slipped and drowned. Fiyero frowned at this distressing news. Joleki had been a close friend and somewhat of an adviser. He was also one of the best hunters in the tribe.

"Prepare the funeral feast. Wait-was there any sign that this was not an accident?" A death caused by anger might infect the tribespeople with its malice. In those cases, as well as those stricken with disease, the body would have to be burned, which called for a different ceremony.

"Spirit Walker Rexani spoke to the river and was told no. River told her that he took Joleki, not a person."

Fiyero nodded, finding some relief in knowing this. "Prepare the feast. My family will come down from the Kells at dawn."


	11. Eulogy

_Always you were drawn to the composite creatures, the broken, the reassembled, for that is what you are_- Wicked the novel

Little Nor was the one to begin the ceremony, perched atop her father's shoulders. In the light of the full moon, she looked like a wraith for her eerie paleness. She began to sing in a high voice, clear and sweet as a bell. "_Moonlight, turn your face to the moonlight,"_ and then she took her own advice.

Fabala was outraged. Fiyero was using the child, as the man sitting beside her had used a little green girl many years ago, to further his cause. She wondered if Nor was any more than a tool to him.

_"Let your memory lead you, o__pen up, enter in. __If you find there the meaning of what happiness is, t__hen a new life will begin."_

The tribesmen and women took up the song and repeated her words. Nor drew attention to the banquet spread and a sudden comprehension dawned on Fabala. What exactly was the funeral feast?

A young woman, heavy with child, came forward. Fiyero put Nor down and she crossed over to the woman.

_"Daylight. __See the dew on the sunflower a__nd a rose that has faded. __Roses whither away. __Like the sunflower, __I yearn to turn my face to the dawn. __I am waiting for the day... "_

She put her small hands on the woman's belly, as if willing the dead man's spirit into the unborn child. Fabala couldn't sit still. To think, she had found these people novel and sweet in their own way. This was an obscene ritual. But she had to admit that even with the sinister nature of it, or perhaps because of it, there was something hauntingly beautiful about the way it was portrayed.

_"The night is over, another day is dawning...," _Nor sang, pressing her hands down firmly. The woman began to weep openly.

_"Daylight. We must think of the sunrise, to begin at a new life. When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory too and a new day will begin."_

The woman took up the melody. _"Sunlight, through the trees in summer, endless masquerading." _Nor joined back in._ "Like the flower and the dawn is breaking, the memory is fading." _

Nor ran back to her father and he picked her up again and spun her around, kissing her cheek. She giggled softly and hugged him back.

Frex took note of Fabala'a agitation. "Oh, don't think much on it. They simply don't know any better."

"I hardly think so," she fumed. "He's been educated." And when Fiyero came over she blurted out, "You're an educated man!"

He blinked in surprise. _Why was she so upset? _And then he realized. His face hardened. "What would you have me do? Commit my people, _my ancestors, _to the ground that way the worms can scavenge them? That custom is rife with depravity. Where is the honor, the dignity in that?"

But she didn't let up. "You're eating a human being!"

"It's not like we bound and gagged an unwary itinerant simply for this reason. The man was already dead. And we are taking him back into ourselves. With luck and the grace of Lurline, he will be reborn as the babe." He gave Frex a wary look at the mention of the Fairy Goddess but the old man made no remark.

"This is superstitious nonsense! How can you honestly believe what you are saying?"

He looked hurt and offended. "It is our way. I can't break tradition."

"I think I'm going to be ill," Fabala told him.

"Not right here, you won't. You will offend my tribe as you have offended me. Take it out of sight, and earshot." He pointed vaguely off into the distance. "Watch out for predators," he said, darkly.

They glared at each other for a few seconds before she turned roughly away and stalked off. He did the same a moment later and Frex was glad, what with the way tempers had flared. He wanted to push his cause on these people but that was not the way to do it. They could easily turn on the Goat and end up eating her.

Fiyero was angry and upset with Fabala for judging him so harshly. And her reaction agitated him in other ways. He felt all the more ignorant and uncouth for it. This was the way of his people, was how they had lived for centuries. And he had to uphold the tradition.

The desire to blend in with society and his own provincial nature warred inside him. He sighed and wished that he could be different.


	12. The Council

_Where's that native boy reeking that appealing naivete like a well-chosen musk?- _Wicked the novel

Sarima and her younger children, her sisters and Shell went back into the mountains while the rest stayed for their own purposes. Frex preached to deaf ears with Fabala and Boq sticking close by. And Fiyero took Irji with him to the council.

They met in secret, well away from Red Windmill and prying was a small gathering. Rexani the Spirit Walker, Fiyero's second a man called Tesalo and his wife Amanti, and the Herb Woman Marhema. Fiyero sighed and went ahead.

"My talks with the Wizard did not go well-"

Tesalo interrupted, "Our lives have been disrupted. We can't go on the Grassland Hunt for fear of what they will do to our women. And you say you have failed to find a solution?"

"I said, that the Wizard wouldn't hear me. I haven't said that I failed. I have come up with a solution. I think that we should try to make an alliance with the Scrow." He took a deep breath and waited for them to deliberate.

"That is a possibility we hadn't considered," Renaki said, slowly.

"I suggest we make the alliance but wait to engage the Wizards soldiers. Rushing headlong could be disastrous and cost many lives."

"Assuming the Scrow will agree to an alliance," Marhema said.

"What of the Ghullim?" Amanti suggested but her husband attempted to shoot the concept down.

"The Ghullim hunt on our lands. They steal food from our children's mouths. And how long until our children are the ones being slaughtered?"

"The Ghullim do not eat meat," Fiyero pointed out, but nobody seemed to notice.

Marhema added, "They have been forced from their own lands. I have been moved by their plight."

Tesalo persisted, "Yes, it is tragic but they should not be here."

"How then would you feel," Amanti asked, softly, but she did not back down under his glare.

"They are not here by choice. They can't be happy with their exile. I am of the opinion that they will side with us," Renaki said.

All heads turned to Fiyero. "What say you Chieftain Tigelaar," Marhema asked.

"I will send delegates to the Scrow and the Ghullim," he told them.

All during this Irji had remained silent and watchful as was expected of him. He had not yet earned the right to participate.

The council turned to other less troubling topics: the pending arrival Coele's firstborn, preperations for the winter months. Also, midsummer was tomorrow and that required yet another ritual. Fiyero was glad to be feeling better. This was alot of work and if he had still been he couldn't have managed.

Finally, they all bowed their heads in proper genuflection and dispersed.

Irji sat still, cross legged, his head bowed. It was how he had been since the council begun. Fiyero reached over and tapped his shoulder. Now he was free to move and speak. "That man, Tesalo, is he always like that?"

"He is my second. And yes, he always speaks his mind. He would not be my second if he did not."

"But he argued everything that was said."

"He is afraid, as we all are, and that is his fear speaking. And he knows that I welcome his challenge. It keeps me from becoming complacent. An idle lord is an incompetent. I would be of no use to my tribe if I grew lazy. But I know him well, since we were younger than you are now. He's not after my position, if that is what you are thinking. He respects me and the judgement of the elder women, Renaki and Marhema. They all know that I will not lead the tribe astray."

"But I still don't understand why you have the council. Wouldn't it be easier if you just make the decisions on your own?"

"I wondered that too, when my father first started bringing me around, but I was afraid to ask. He was an imposing man. It was only after I took up leadership that I did realize. Because it is important that their voices are heard. I am not a dictator like the Wizard. They advise me and I trust their wisdom and...they have authority over me."

"What do you mean?"

"I have the final say on all decisions, but they have the power to remove me as Chieftain. This not an easy job. I have, and you will, less freedom and more responsibility than anyone else in the tribe. I am bound not to luxury but servitude to my people. This is something you must come to understand if you want to succeed me. Don't look so surprised. You might not be the one. You need to prove yourself to them and not me."

After the conversation was over, Fiyero took cover under the odd starsap tree, grateful for its shade. He pulled his tunic over his head. It was the same pale yellow shade, he favored. The tree was isolated here, and it was no wonder, in this rocky steppe. Its existence was a marvel. There was little rain and then there was the heat in summer, the ice in winter. But on the other hand, it had no competition.

He sat for awhile and brooded. The funeral feast again. He couldn't understand the purpose of burying the dead. Why did a person want to bury, say their mother, in the ground? To his mind it was indecent.

As he struggled to grasp the concept, he caught sight of Frex coming his way. He wondered briefly if there was still time to hide. The last thing he wanted right now was to have tolisten to Unionist ramblings. His thought turned that horrible Other Land and he shivered against the heat. He thought inexplicably of that little lion cub at Shiz, and the door that hadn't opened for either of them.

Frex came and sat down beside him. "Terrible heat isnt it? I suppose it always is like this."

Fiyero nodded. "And in the winter it is just as cold as this is hot."

"I am not a stranger to brutal climes. I spent years preaching to the Quadlings. They lived in wetlands. Hot and steamy in the summer, cold and wet in the winter. And then Munchkinland, where it is dry any season, and when it does rain it just evaporates away. Or worse: flash floods."

"I have never been to the South or the East," Fiyero told him.

"Understandable, my dear boy, not everyone is as well traveled as I. I go where the mission takes me. You have been to did you think?"

"Well, I-"

"Yes, I had imagined that someone like yourself would be overwhelmed by the glitz and the glamor. Of course, that is not how everything is there. You have the incurably poor, the desitute, the starving masses."

"If they are hungry, why dont they go hunt? There is food to be found."

"It is not that simple, for one thing-"

"Why not?"

"Because it is a city and there is a certain decorum that must be upheld, even among the poverty stricken. Things are different there as a requirement. Do you understand?"

Fiyero nodded and said, "Yes," but his expression showed he did not. "It's just that here, we don't have the same problems. So it's a little confusing for me."

Frex frowned and felt uncomfortable. Funny, how this rustic troglodyte should make _him_ feel stupid and uncouth. Like his ways were the wrong ways.


	13. Transgression

Fabala was contrite. She butted her head gently against Fiyero's arm but he continued to ignore her. "I'm not going away," she said fiercely. She sat down and stared at him, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand it.

He lasted longer than she expected. Almost twenty minutes. "What," he said, finally but he still did not look at her.

She perked up at once, but worked to keep it in check. The last thing she wanted was to offend him further. "It was a bit of a shock, is all. And I got carried away."

He made an irritated noise and shook his head. "You're not in charge here. I am. What right do you have to judge our ways so? And remember you are only here because I allow it."

"I know. Oh, Fiyero, I'm sorry." She nuzzled his arm again. He made the same noise and waved her away.

It was midsummer's eve. Or Prenella's Eve, out here in the Vinkus. Midnight was rapidly approaching.

Fiyero couldn't stay mad at her, not for long anyway. So when he saw the Goat leaving Red Windmill he felt he should Apologize and so he followed her.

It would have been impossible to track a black Goat in the dark, and now they were out of the range of torch light. He closed his eyes and relied on his other senses. The sound of hoof on stone, the swish of grass against pelt, the inevitable hush of smaller creatures as she passed.

The sound of drums resonated from Red Windmill. They woke up something inside of Fiyero and his blood turned to liquid fire. He opened his eyes. It was something he hardly dared to want for.

Two wateroaks stretched skyward and there between them, looking like a storybook nymph, or perhaps a sculpture cut from flawless green marble, was Elphaba. He forgot to breathe. Her back was turned; she had yet to notice him. She was also very naked.

There were several seconds in which Fiyero could do nothing but stare.

A fenhawk gave a shrill cry from some hidden place and shook him out of his trance.

It also alerted her to his presence. "You," she howled. It was like a malediction.

"Wait-," he told her, hoping to stall the inevitable explosion. But what? He really didn't have a good reason for being here.

"You," she repeated pointing a shaking finger at him. "You go around acting all wide-eyed innocent and I catch you skulking about like some voyeur. Well, I might have known!"

"Look-"

"What! I'm waiting. You better have a damn good excuse for being here."

"Oh yes, I planned on this. I really expected to find you out here completely naked."

She folded her arms across her small breasts, concealing them. At least he had the courtesy of looking at her face instead of them. "You may have a point," she admitted but she still looked haughty and suspicious.

"So you have decided to stop playing Goat?"

Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared. "Not that I have much a choice. Its midsummer's day," she said ruefully.

"Oh," he said, although he didn't understand.

"The spell lifts at midsummer and midwinter," she told him.

"Oh," he said again.

She sighed. "I can't tell you anymore than that."

"No, I understand. It is something like the tale of the six swans and the maiden."

"I suppose," she said, though she was unfamiliar with that particular tale.

The drums could be heard even here. Their music had a profound effect. Of course, Fiyero thought briefly, that is what Prenella's Day is all about.

There seemed to be a voice on the wind. Elphaba heard somehow and understood. The words that were carried spoke of her need.

_I would die for you. I would die for you. I've been dying just to feel you by my side, to know that your mine_.

Fiyero pushed her roughly against one of the wateroaks. The breath was knocked out of her. He struggled to contain himself but Prenella's will was strong.

_I will cry for you. I will cry for you. I would wash away your pain with all my tears, and drown your fear._

His fingernails scraped her skin as he moved downwards. His tongue darted out, finding that secret place. She arched her back and her hands moving of their own accord, tried to push him away. He grabbed them and pinned them to the tree.

_I will pray for you. I will pray for you. I would sell my soul for something pure and true, someone like you. _

She gathered a fistful of his hair and threw her head back as the explosion of mingled agony and ecstacy took her. She could not stop the cry that rose to her lips.

_See your face every place that I walk in. Hear your voice every time I am talking. You will believe in me. And I will never be ignored._

She fought to regulate her breathing. "Now...I know...why...they call you...the Hungry Tiger," she gasped.

He looked up at her and his eyes glowed with a preternatural light. "I haven't finished yet," he told her.

"Oh," she said. Really, what else could she say?

_I will burn for you. _

She was burning. In fact, the whole landscape seemed to blaze with their passion.  
_Feel pain for you._

She moaned as he slid inside her.

_I will twist the knife and bleed my aching heart, and tear it apart._

He bit her neck, hard, almost drawing blood and then sucked on the spot. Her body rose and fell in sync with his.

_I will lie for you. Beg and steal for you. I will crawl hands and knees until you see, you're just like me._

She leaned into him and gave in completely. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, like ravening beasts. He shuddered against her violently, but did not move away. His breath in her ear, on her neck.

_Violate all the love I've been missing. Throw away all the pain I've been living. You will believe in me. And I can never be ignored._

He found her breasts. He cupped one with his hand while he put his mouth on the other. His lips teased, he nibbled at it until the nipple grew hard.

He was on his knees now, feeling, roving every inch of her. He was like an animal, a wild man, tonight. Her head lolled in supreme pleasure and she was nearly consumed by it.

_I would die for you. I would kill for you. I would steal for you._

They collapsed together, exhausted from the exertion. She moved in, and clung to him, as if she could never be close enough and delighted the warmth of his body.

_I'd do time for you. I would wait for you. I'd make room for you. I'd sail ships for you. _Yes, she would face the mythical ocean if she had to.

_To be close to you._ _To be a part of you. Because I believe in you. I believe in you. I would die for you_.

She sighed blissfully and said, "Yero my hero."


	14. Aberration

_I've been lax at this, not to take credit for other people's ideas but because I simply forget. So to start at the top, the land of Oz and most of its inhabitants belong to the Baum estate and/or Gregory Maguire. I borrow the concepts of Arjiki lifestyle from a wide range: Bedouins and __Aboriginals__ and __ancient Celts__ from our world, Anne Rice's Queen of the Damned and Jean M. Auels Clan of the Cave Bear. The six swans and the maiden referenced is an Irish myth and the basis of the beautiful novel Daughter of the Forest by __Juliet Marillier__. _

Long they lay together, with the moonlight caressing their nearly naked forms. He had given her his tunic, which she wrapped around her waist, positioning it so that the sleeves fell between her legs and allowed her some modesty.

He told her the Vinkus story of Quelala and Gayelette. "Gayelette was a great Spirit Walker, perhaps the greatest ever known to the West. All the people loved her and being renowned for her beauty men pined away eager for the chance to prove themselves. But Gayelette was married to her work. She delighted in serving her tribe and she was very good at it."

"You already said that."

"Elphie, let me tell the story." And he continued. "So she turned away every suitor that came to her door be they Princes or great Lords or commonfolk. A lesser woman would have been swayed. Some came bringing fine stallions or glittering jewels, or the finest silks. But Gayelette turned them all away. Inside the emptiness grew and Gayelette knew not why she cried into the night for she Had them all convinced and herself most of all that her work was enough."

"Also, there was Quelala. A young man, who's beauty and grace surpassed even Gayelette's."

"Oh, so he was a-"

"Elphaba!"

"Sorry."

"A fine, beautiful lad he was. Strong of limb, pure of heart, sharp of mind."

"This sounds like sentimental rubbish, if you ask me."

"I haven't. But unlike Gayalette, Quelala was scorned for his looks, his manner. The girls in the tribe married other young men and poor Quelala was left on his own."

Elphaba sighed audibly and he gave her a stern look.

"Eventually, it became so bad that Quelala was set upon by his neighbors."

"Oh, finally! I was beginning to worry nothing interesting would actually happen."

"Will you please let me finish!"

"Fine, okay. I'll shut up now." But Fiyero stayed quiet and glared at her. "Well what? I thought you wanted to finish?"

"Yes, but I wanted to be sure you had your say. So Quelala was run out of the tribe."

"Thats it!" she blurted out. "I was hoping for a good lynching. Oh what! Don't look at me that way. Its easy enough to figure out. He finds his way to her village and they meet and its love at first sight. Its all horrible sweetness.=0A

"Well I'm glad you have it all figured out," he said shortly. He lapsed into irritated silence for awhile.

Eventually, he asked her, "So why the Goat?"

"Dr Dillamond, of course."

"Oh, Boq mentioned him once. But I never met him."

"No, he died before you got to Shiz."

"I would have thought it was because you were so stubborn." She grinned at that. "What manner of enchantment is it? Our Spirit Walker is a capable woman. Perhaps she will be able to lift it."

"No!" At his look of surprise she elaborated, "The mage who put it on me said it was mine to break."

"But why?"

"There was something I had to prevent. And so this is the price I pay. For my selfishness, he told me."

"Is it worth it?"

"Yes," she said fiercely, and then she told him her story:

_The glass was had been a gift of a man called Turtle Heart. And it never lied, she knew, though it often showed things she'd rather not see._

_It showed her the arrival of a man whose identity was concealed. How she would deviate from the path laid before her. How his presence would bring her and the carefully laid plans to ruin. _

_Morrible must be destroyed! And this stranger eluded._

_She had little skill in sorcery, as it were, but she did keep an ear to the ground. There was a wizard, not the Wizard, but a man of considerable talents that she had heard whispers of. Finding him proved impossible._

_The year wore on. Finally an elderly man came knocking upon her door. She was quick minded, she had heard those silly tales of the beggar in the wood. It occured to her without hesitation that this was her man. She couldnt find him, he had to come to her. _

_Knowing the stories, she heaped her meager hospitality on him, what little she had._

_In the end, he remained an old man, no guise falling to youthful decadance and glory, which being how the stories usually go, was what she had expected. But he reavealed himself, nonetheless_

_She told of her wishes, what she hoped to achieve._

_He was silent for a long time, thinking over her request. Finally, he said, "This is a request of utmost selfishness," he said harshly._

_"Oh no!" she protested. "Many lives will benefit from her death." She could fool herself towards her intentions, but not him._

_He shook his head and gave her a harsh look. "This is no noble act of charity. It is hubris. But still..." He paused to mull it over. "There is an innocent to be spared and for that I will grant your appeal. But it will not be for you," he said, with a disapproving look. _

_But she didn't care. As long as Morrible was obliterated. "I would do anything," she told him, without thinking._

_He paused again and looked at her, getting a smug expression on his face. A twinge of fear, and she wondered briefly what she had roped herself into. But she quickly decided it didn't matter, whatever it was would be worth it. "That is well, because this is powerful magic, altering the currents of time. It will require payment," he told her._

_And so everything played out as she had hoped and the mage reappeared while she was still fleeing the scene of the carnage she had wrought. But inexplicably, he allowed her to choose the method and manner of her fee. _

"So now you are a Goat?"

"But for those two days a year. Until I figure out how to free myself. It is not so bad, I found I rather enjoy it at times. Plus, it gives me a unique understanding."

He smiled warmly at her. "I always wondered why you ran from me, that day in Emerald City and now I know. You did it to save my life."

She shook her head, incredulous. Hadn't he been listening to her? It had been to kill Morrible. She sighed and looked over at him all at once losing the heart to correct him. She had done it to obliterate Morrible and he would have been a distraction from that. The mage had pegged her right, it had been pure selfishness. "Fiyero..."

"Yes?"

"Why don't you finish the story of Gayelette and Quelala."

He grinned at her. "And so Quelala was run out from his village and he took to wandering, for that was the only thing he could do..."


	15. Preenella's Day

Fiyero woke a few hours later with a marvelous headache. He tried to sit up but immediatly regretted it. So he lay back down until it stopped throbbing so. Then he realized Fabala/Elphaba was gone. He didn't bother looking, he already knew what happened if she didnt want to be found. He got to his feet slowly, carefully and made his way back to Red Windmill.

Renaki was there at the torchline, waiting on him. She knew, somehow she knew. He could see it as soon as he laid eyes on her. He hesitated, only for a second, but she noticed. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a whisper of a smile as she watched. "Preenella got to you," she said. He supposed the way he was avoiding her eye was answer enough.

Out of respect, Renaki said no more on the matter. Instead she changed the subject. "You are troubled."

He gave her surprised look.

She smiled more warmly. "How did I know? A good and just leader you may be, but you have no poker face."

"The Ozmas let us be. For centuries this land has been ours. The fact of uninhabitabilty has been our greatest asset. It has kept us safe."

"And you feel we have grown too comfortable?"

He nodded solemnly. "Also, I wonder why he takes notice."

"When word of the Wizards arrival and seizure of the throne reached my ears, I knew that he would destroy us," she told him.

He stopped walking and stared at her in disbelief. "You speak as though this a matter of little importance. Only the destruction of our people!"

"But it was inevitable. Whether those men integrate with our people or they seek conquest by force, it means the end of our way of life." She gestured towards Frex, as an example, and gave Fiyero a meaningful look. "We do not fit. We are an anomaly and our ways have exhausted themselves."

Massive pyres were built in preparation for the nights festivities, and though Frex did his best to discourage the tribal folk, mounds of juniper and hawthorn were built up as offerings to placate Preenella.

Fabala turned up and found Fiyero, who had become taciturn and morose following his conversation with Renaki. She didnt press him but stayed close by.

While the village as a whole engaged in merrimaking he remained silent and watchful. He trusted the soldiers even less than before. Fabala ambled over and rested her head on his leg. She was a still and welcome companion.

He stood up when it came time and with the rest of the tribe made the traditional journey between the two bonfires, a stale and outdated cleansing ritual.

He began to wonder if they should conform, if it was a choice between that and annihilation. He came to a sudden conclusion: they would not. The Arjikis were a proud, if not stubborn, people and would die before changing their beliefs.

_Maybe the mountains will protect us?_ he wondered aloud, glancing up into the Great Kells. His eyes wandered over the jagged peaks, the rocky climes, and on to Knobblehead Pike where Kiamo Ko stood out. The fortress looked uninviting, impenetrable and almost sinister.

_Surely that will be enough? _he tried to convince himself.

As if in answer a soldier moved around the edge of the gathering. There was a musket slung over his shoulder.

Now alarmed, Fiyero stood up abruptly, drawing attention to himself and to the soldier. A rolling hush disrupted the festivities. Many eyes tracked the soldier's progress.

_Where are my children? _he thought with a growing fear. Then he remembered that Nor and Manek were in Kiamo Ko, safe for now, at least. But like a fool, he had kept himself and his heir with in harm's way. He searched the crowd frantically for Irji.

There he was, among a group of children close to his age. Fiyero rushed over there and positioned himself in front of them. But he had no idea what he would do if this turned ugly. He had no weapon at hand. At least not one that could defend against guns and the like. The children, until now, had been at their game unaware of the fear of their elders. Now they went quiet and still; their eyes growing wide and fearful.

There was more than one soldier now, each stationed at so many paces. They behaved in a negligent almost lazy manner but it seemed to Fiyero, and he was sure to many others, that they were poised to take hold of their guns at any second.

Anger eclipsed fear. Seething now, Fiyero turned to Irji and ordered him to hide himself and the others. Then he did something bold and possibly stupid. He went right up to one of the soldier's and demanded to know what this was about.

The soldier gave him similar waffle to what the Wizard had. But this time it was some nonsense about the Yunamata.

"The Yunamata are peaceful! Everyone knows that. And if they weren't it should be between our tribe and theirs."

Tesalo came up behind Fiyero and stood at his right. "Perhaps it is time that the Wizard's men should be leaving."

The soldier looked over Fiyero's shoulder and at the other man. "We don't respond to threats." Then he looked back at Fiyero. "Your children are in no danger from our men, Lord Tigelaar. If they had been, there would be little use in hiding them so." And then his eyes flickered up into the mountains, something that did not go unnoticed by either man.

The message was clear enough. The soldier's were here to stay and there was nothing to be done about it.


	16. Fields of Gold

"You need to rest," Fabala said, in a commanding sort of tone.

To which, Fiyero just laughed shortly and said, "If only…"

"We've only been back a week or so and you've been running around to this council and that meeting. Organizing all these ridiculous festivals. Yes, yes, I know, its all very important for the morale of your tribe, but Fiyero, you need to slow down. You nearly died on the way over here."

'I know,' he said, sighing_. That's not something easily forgotten_. He thought briefly on  
the things he had seen and shuddered with revulsion and horror.

"Whats wrong?"

But he shook his head and said nothing. Why trouble her with such nightmare visions? "I have to be strong for my people. If they start to doubt my ability to lead... And for my son. He must learn from my example. The tribe comes first, not his needs or wants. There will be time for that later." He smiled and looked down at her, patted her on the head.

_Any other Goat would've been offended,_ she thought ruefully. But she was not any other Goat, nor was he just any human, and so she took it all in stride.

He went on, "If we succeed, then I will hole myself up in Kiamo Ko and sleep for the next month."

She smiled at that, as much as a Goat could. "Sounds good," she told him.

"So there is nothing I can do about it," he said, looking longingly up at Kiamo Ko.

"Not if I have anything to say on the matter," Fabala told him.

He continued to look wistfully up into the mountains. "But you are just a Goat," but he didn't mean it in a demeaning way, she understood. He sighed softly "There is much for me to do before I can go home." He looked at her again and asked, "Come with me to the convocation. There will be other Animals...you can be a mediator."

"Of course."

And so he left Tesalo and Amanti in charge, while he went to meet with the other tribes, taking Irji and Fabala with him.

* * *

Fiyero sang to himself, to the others, as he often did, simply to pass the time. And to distract them from the long and difficult journey.

_"You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley. You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold. __So she took her love for to gaze awhile upon the fields of barley. In his arms she fell as her hair came down among the fields of gold. Will you stay with me, will you be my love a__mong the fields of barley.__We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky a__s we lie in fields of gold. ____See the west wind move like a lover so u__pon the fields of barley. __Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth a__mong the fields of gold._"

Fabala shivered without knowing why. This was obviously some Vinkus folksong, but it seemed almost familiar.

_"__I never made promises lightly a__nd there have been some that I've broken, b__ut I swear in the days still left w__e'll walk in fields of gold. __Many years have passed since those summer days a__mong the fields of barley. __See the children run as the sun goes down a__mong the fields of gold. __You'll remember me when the west wind moves u__pon the fields of barley. __You can tell the sun in his jealous sky w__hen we walked in fields of gold."_

Fabala was a little sad when he stopped. "I like that," she said softly.

He shrugged. "My mother would sing it to me. She told me it was from another level of the Tower. But I'm not sure what she meant. She could be a little strange sometimes."

* * *

What was to have been a meeting between a handful of persons now had grown by leaps and bounds.

The unexpected presence of the Ugabusezi, for instance. Of all the tribes scattered among the Vinkus, Fabala found them the most disconcerting. They were breathtakingly tall, with skin like coal and a decidedly spider-like quality about them. But it was not unbecoming, with their long lean limbs. Like the other clans they had a certain grace to them, a kind of rustic elegance if you will. She sighed wistfully. Each group was beautiful in their own way.

And then there was the presence of Uyodor H'aekeem. Fabala had heard Fiyero mention him in passing. The Lord of the Ghullim, rerouted all the way from Wend Fallows by fringe struggles between Emerald City forces and Munchkinland guerrillas. _Why_, she wondered, _didn't Nessarose do something to prevent this?_

But while she had expected the Ghullim's presence, she hadn't expected them to be quite so exquisite. Like Tigers in minature, they were, but spotted and not striped. Or rather a combination of both markings. _Perhaps a hybrid of Leopard and Tiger_, she mused. But then Uyodor caught her staring and she looked away, embarrassed and unsettled.


	17. A great perilous gulf

_For what secrets, what truths had those monstrous creatures of the night to give us? What, of necessity, must be their terrible limits? What can the damned really say to the damned? Aren't there gradiations of evil?Is evil a great perilous gulf into which one falls with the first sin, plummeting into the depth? How does one fall from grace and in one instant become as evil as the mob tribunal of the Revolution...if evil is without gradiation, and it does exist, this state of evil, then only one sin is needed.-_Interview with the Vampire

_One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her~is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil?-_Wicked the novel

* * *

Glinda took in a deep breath, taking in the sweet air of the vineyard. She let her fingers trail along the ivy wall.

A small coven of servants were busy not working on the other side, out of sight but not earshot. She paused to listen, recognizing the voice of the kitchen maid.

"I heard that she is so wicked that all the blood inside of her just dried up years ago."

"That's the truth, too," the goose girl could be heard to say. "That is also why she can't bear water. She bathes in the blood of infants."

"Aye, and then she feeds the remains to that devil Tiger of hers," the scullery joined in.

"They say her is a demon, a real one I mean, from the depths of the abyss. And he can shed his Tiger's skin and slink about as a person."

The goose girl laughed raucously. "All of the Vinkus folk are demons, be they half- or full-blooded. You'd have to be to want to live in that god-forsaken place," she told them, sounding authoritative on the matter.

Glinda muttered a spell under her breath. To throw her voice and disguise it. "I have seen him," she said. There was a brief hush in the gossip. She wondered if she had somehow botched the spell, but really they were just trying to come to terms with what she had said. She plowed ahead anyway. "He looked just like an ordinary man of the west. Except he was dressed in some finery and not the filth one would expect."

The scullery scoffed. "Well, I should think not. Being the consort of the Witch." And she gave a humorless laugh. "Of course, he would manage some finery."

Glinda listened with great interest, startled by how they failed to notice that there were four voices and only three of them. She added, "And he also had these intriguing tribal markings..." But this went largely ignored.

"But more likely than not it was an illusion. They are tricksy beasts: those slathering Winkies," the goose girl said, in the same official tone.

The kitchen maid, being the most superstitious of the lot, went a step further. "You may have been bewitched," she gasped. "If I were you, I would go to the chapel and seek exorcism. He may have infected you with his demon."

Glinda came around the corner but they were so absorbed in their gossip they didn't notice her yet.

"Can that happen," was the startled reply.

"Oh yes. It is fearsome to see. Your whole body swells and your skin sloughs off. And then you go mad, foaming at the mouth and everything," the goose girl told her.

Glinda very deliberatly stepped on a flat stone and it cracked loudly beneath her heel, alerting them to her presence. They scattered like the sheep they were. She despised gossip, as much as she despised idle hands, her own being the exception naturally.

But there was something in the chatter that chilled her to the marrow. The hate mongering. The sowing of fear and prejudice. These were no longer harmless, silly rumors but something potentially dangerous. She began to grow very afraid for her friends out there in the west.


	18. Other Land

_Thoughts of old magic, luminous legend, some great eerie strata in which all the shadow things thrived, an intoxication with forbidden knowledge in which the natural things became unimportant...borne on the ever swelling current of hatred- _The Vampire Lestat

* * *

The Scrow turned out to be surprisingly hospitable. They prepared a mixture made from something called Devil's Root. Fiyero was reluctant to accept something with such a name but courtesy demanded it.

_Devil's Root_, he mused, staring at the strange concoction. He swirled it around in it's earthen ware bowl. He glanced at Lord Ottokos, to his right. The other man was drinking his portion with a slow deliberate pace. Fiyero assumed this was because it was that powerful, like a strong ale, and must be drank with caution. A few of the others were beginning to look at him, with a sort of disappointed expectancy. He knew he better start drinking or risk offending them, the Scrow were not, after all, above human sacrifice.

It was bitter and heady and reminded him of bourbon.

Lord Ottokos stood suddenly, but his movement seemed both frenetic and languid. Fiyero watched with a mild alarm. Ottokos turned to look at him and gave him a smug knowing smile. He forced himself to stand as well and it seemed he was falling, falling back. But he kept his feet, somehow.

He believed, irrationally perhaps, that he had been poisoned.

Lord Ottoko's expression abruptly changed. He looked offended. But after that Fiyero was too distracted to care. Ottokos, and just about everything else, dwindled down to insubstantial shapes. This was seeming all to familar.

In response to his apprehension, a voice called out, "Ah so my predictions were true. You have been here before." And one of the shapes began to reassemble itself into a prominent figure, that of an old man clad in black robes.

"Who-"

"Names are both immaterial and eminent. I don't give mine out. You already know of me, yes, I can see you worked out my identity even as I speak."

"You are the Mage, the one that hid that strange book in my castle. Sarima told me once, but I hardly believed..." He regarded the Mage with suspicion. "You were the one who bewitched Elphaba." For all Fiyero knew, he could be in league with the Wizard and come here to make those rumors of Hungry Tiger true.

But as if guessing his thouight, the Mage merely looked amused. "The Goat, I presume?"

"Tell me the secret of her enchantment, so that I can relieve her of it."

But the Mage looked surprised. "She hasn't relieved herself? And I took her to be far more clever than that."

"What do you mean?"

"The answer is a simple one, my boy. _There is no secret_. She can change back and forth as she wishes. It was merely a fancy of mine that I should tell her that it was only possible at midseasons."

"But you tricked her...Oh, she's not going to like that...Why do it though? What was the point?"

"I only tricked her because that is what she really wanted. Oh not the deception, of course. But the penance. I listented to her inner voice when it was speaking to me. Much as you desire knowledge, an understanding of the ways of men," -at this Fiyero looked shocked-, "A noble cause, but tread carefully on this path, there are those that will use this against you in the future," the Mage told him cryptically. "Your friend has extremist leanings, though through them she has done much good in your world. But on some level she recognizes that the ends didn't justify the means. The magical incarceration is something that she wanted very much."

"But-"

"Has she not told you herself that she has accepted the form that she wears?"

"Yes, but-"

"This is something that you want, then. Tell her if you must. But beware of her intent. She is as dangerous as the other. Remember what I have told you. 'The ends do not always justify the means.'"

"I don't understand. She has never led me wrong."

"Be that as it may, she bears watching."

Fiyero considered. Elphaba had killed Madame Morrible, all those years ago, but in the process numerous innocent bystanders.

And even he had been aware of the fracture, the shift in the flow of time. He had felt _something_, though he hadn't understood at the time. In the other chain of events had he become a martyr to her cause? Had she stepped on him in her path to destroy the Wizard? Would she do that now? And where would that leave his tribe? His family? She cared for him and he for her. But would that caring lead to harm? The heart was a wicked thing, he knew.

But then he remembered... "You are from the Other Land?" He glanced around himself. "And we are walkiing through it?"

The Mage chuckled softly. "Oh yes, but it is not nearly as magical as it is credited. We simply call it Earth."

"Earth?" Fiyero frowned and looked at the ground. "But that is..." The earth beneath his feet. It was obvious to the point of absurdity. Were the people of the Other Land that lacking in imagination? And he had taken them to be powerful sorcerers...

"Redundant?"

"Yes."

"My point exactly. It may not surprise you that most of them consider your world to be a paradise. Shangri-La, Avalon, Atlantis, Eden and a dozen other names that will mean absolutely nothing to you."

"Oz is not a paradise. There is war, famine, plague at every corner. Death at every door. Even I know that."

"Verily the four Horsemen."

Fiyero tried to make sense of this. "The Scrow?" But there were no Scrow warriors. "The horsemen?"

"It's not important."

"There are many tiktok creatures in your world. I was ill, nearly to the death and I saw it. I think," he added, now feeling uncertain.

"Technology, we call it. Machines. My society thrives on them."

"I don't understand you world."

"It is not for you to worry about. Believe me in the coming days, you will have plenty to worry about on your own turf. Well, now that we have shared water, or khef or whatever it is that you call it. And just in time, that little concoction you took to allow this will soon wear off."

"The Devil's Root allows congress between worlds?"

"If the conditions are right. I arranged our meeting as much as I could from my end. Beware of this woman. And especially that Wizard."

This brought up more questions to Fiyero's mind, but before he could ask them the Mage was gone and Fabala's face filled his vision. She scampered back as he sat up and someone unseen cried, "Oh sweet Lurline, he's alright!" He had fallen to the ground it seemed.

Lord Ottokos held out his hand to help Fiyero to his feet.

"I don't have a head for these things," Fiyero told him. But the Scrow translator looked unconvinced.

"What happened," Fabala demanded.

"It's just nothing, their parting gift was just too strong for me. I have to talk to you. You won't like it but there's something you need to know," he told her.


End file.
